


Just Fenders Fridays

by GoatBazaarofFics



Series: Keep Your Wits About You [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Party Banter in the notes, but fuck it i love justice and fenris does too., i know this is more about fenris and anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:45:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatBazaarofFics/pseuds/GoatBazaarofFics
Summary: "A mage, an elf, and spirit walk into a bar, stop me if you heard this one before, Blondie.""Maker, you're worse than Isabela.""I'm worse? I'm just telling jokes. At least I'm not asking about your sex life.""I can handle talking about my sex life, Varric. It's your cringy sense of humor I can't handle."A collection of oneshots that coincides with my main story Time Can't Change Everything and any future fics within this series. They will try and be posted on fridays, but





	1. An Empty Bed

It was the strands of the morning light that woke Fenris up. It was a gradual process; his eyes blinked once, twice, three times before they were open. He faced the wall of his bedroom and stared at the ugly pattern. It was a familiar sight when he woke up, but, he noticed he laid flat on his stomach and not hunched into a tight ball. He was stretched out; his legs weren’t bent and curled into his chest, one arm propped his head, the other lazily hung over the bed. He felt utterly relax, something he couldn’t claim most mornings. Fenris moved his legs slightly and they brushed against…nothing.

That wasn’t right.

Fenris pushed himself off the bed slightly and looked to his right. He was met with crumpled sheets and the impression of someone had slept there, but that someone had disappeared.

Where did Anders go to?

Fenris twisted around and sat up. He expected the mage still be here when he woke up but was that wrong of him to do so? It was mid-morning, and if he had to guess close to eight if the angled sun meant anything. Did Anders already leave to go to the clinic? How early did he open his clinic? Fenris rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the palm of his hands.

This was karma, Fenris thought. Last night he contemplated fleeing his own home after he had sex with Anders. For a split second, at the peak of his orgasm, memories he lost had flooded his mind. He felt too much all at once and scared him. He would have left too if it were not for the mage curling himself around Fenris’s middle and falling asleep.

Fenris dragged his legs up and rested his arms. He glared at his hands. This was a lesson. If Fenris left like he planned, it would have been Anders sitting here pondering what he did wrong. At least in the mage’s case, he left to go do his job. Fenris would have run from his emotions. At least, he hoped Anders left to go to his clinic.

Last night meant more to Fenris than any occasional nights he had with Isabela or the quick, dirty fucks he had with strangers in back-alleys. He hoped it meant the same for Anders. Had Fenris done something wrong? Did he hurt Anders? He was far stronger than the mage, who was nothing more than skin and bones. It was possible that Fenris was too hard, too fast. He’d been hurt by careless lovers in the past, and last night he could have been a careless lover. Or maybe Anders regretted it, that Fenris was better off as a friend. They have grown close over the past few months, and he swore there was something between them, but maybe Fenris was wrong. Maybe…

Fenris shook his head of his doubts. Anders left to go to work, he didn’t flee. Fenris knew Anders felt the same as he did. He would just go visit the mage later when the clinic was closed and talk. He wouldn’t sit here and wallow in self-loathing. If Fenris worked himself up now, then when he confronted the other man, Fenris would be too angry and hurt to listen. He would start an argument and would lose a potential lover and a good friend.

Just as he came to the decision to lay back down and sleep, Fenris caught a whiff of a delicious assortment of foods. He sniffed and was greeted by roasted potatoes, sausage, and bread. Without thinking, he leaned forward and breathed in the scent. His stomach growled and his tongue darted across his lips. The only time Fenris smelt such good food is when Sebastian dragged him to the Chantry on occasion. The smell was coming from down stairs, meaning that someone— _Anders_ was cooking food.

Fenris sat up straighter at the realization. Anders was downstairs, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast. For him. _For them_. He covered his mouth to stop whatever noise threatened to escape him. Anders didn’t leave in the middle of the night. He was still here. Fenris drew his knees close and buried his face. His hand was still covering his mouth, and he felt his lips curl upwards. His face burned, and his heart was about to burst. Never had someone make him breakfast before that wasn’t their job. Yet, Anders, and he was sure it was his mage, was doing that. How could Fenris repay this simple act of kindness? 

Fenris took a deep breath to calm himself, but it didn’t wipe the smile off his face. He just pulled back his covers and moved to get out of bed when he heard Anders walking up the stairs. Fenris froze and wondered what he should do. Should he great the mage at the stairs? At the door? No that would startle the poor man. Should he just stay in bed and wait?

The footsteps got louder and were accompanied with Anders’s humming. The smell grew more intense with every step. Fenris fell back to bed and covered himself completely. He would pretend to sleep and let the mage have his surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What are you humming, sweet thing?" 
> 
> "I have not been humming anything, pirate."
> 
> "Oh yes, you have. You've been doing it since we've left the city."
> 
> "You're delusional."
> 
> "Well if you keep that up, Varric will have to change your name to Happy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off a tumblr post I saw months ago, but I can’t find it now to link everyone.
> 
> Justice is tired of the slavers polluting Kirkwall's streets. After a year of planning, the spirit dawns a suit of armor to fight crime. Without Anders's knowledge. 
> 
> Pre-relationship JustFenders, the start of act 2. One day this will be its own multi-chapter fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Is there something you need?”
> 
> “Yes, there is in fact. Have you’ve been going out and killing slavers?”
> 
> “You know I do. Why?”
> 
> “You left a bloody mess last night. It looked like a slaughter house had opened up in Darktown.”
> 
> “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Even if I did, I find it hard to sympathize with the so-called victims.”
> 
> “I don’t expect you to feel bad for the bastards, but maybe you could extend some sympathy to my men who have to clean the aftermath.”

Justice crouched on a rooftop in Hightown. Behind him, where the bodies of Highway Men. He over looked the nearly empty streets below.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been out at night and I haven’t been attacked.” Garret Hawke’s distinct voice reached Justice’s ears. Justice mentally scoffed. He didn’t approve of the mortal or his host’s friendship. The rogue took advantage of Anders’s generosity on an almost daily basis. He was a brutish sort who constantly made deals with demons to appease the blood mage, Merrill. In Justice’s opinion, Hawke was only redeemable because he supported mage rights with great fervor.

Anders disagreed.

“Tell me about it; we might need to call Hightown Ghosttown,” Varric Tethras joked. Justice tolerated the dwarf, whereas Anders saw the other man his best friend. He took care of the clinic and bribed gangs to keep Anders safe. But the man was a storyteller by profession, and his tongue was quick to tell lies. He was rarely honest, and when he was, there was no distinction between the truth from the fiction. There was no justice in half-truths.

Anders disagreed.

“Are we done out here?” Guardswoman Aveline asked, “because I would like to go before any gang of thugs gets the drop on us.” Justice respected the woman. She was a woman of the law, dedicated to what was right and wrong. She put an end to the corruption festering the city’s guard. A noble act, one worthy of praise. It was unfortunate she didn't care for mage rights She would have made a great ally to the cause if Anders hadn't insulted her late husband.

And naturally, Anders disagreed.

“Yeah, yeah, that guy was a dead end anyway.” Hawke’s voice was already further away, “I doubt that jackass knew anything about those missing women. His story made less sense than Varric’s novels.”

Justice didn’t hear the dwarf’s retort, he had other plans for tonight and making sure Hawke didn’t get himself and the others killed was not part of them. He needed to get to the docks before the slavers took off. He turned from the edge of the mansion and leaped across another and then another until he ran out of flat roofs and he landed in an alleyway. His shield and sword, liberated from a Templar, clanked together softly. His natural glow emanated from beneath the heavy armor and helmet lit his path.

It was the last night Justice was allowed to go out in Kirkwall this week. Three nights were not enough to rid the streets of the filth that polluted the city, however, he had no choice. He struck a deal with the pirate, Captain Isabela. She would give him information on slaver activity if he let Anders have at least four nights of uninterrupted sleep and allow him to drink during Wicked Grace night. Justice gingerly agreed to her simple terms.

And her terms had been proven to be good for Anders. Over the past five weeks, Justice saw an increase of productivity from his host. Anders was happier, more relaxed, and his mood swings were easier to manage. It seemed Justice was wrong about the pirate. She was no Demon of Desire, despite what she does to his host’s body.

Captain Isabela wasn’t his only informant. Just like the system Anders set up for the Mage Underground, Justice had contacts everywhere throughout the city. The pretty lady elf, Athenril, had confirmed rumors of slavers in the docks.

_“There’s a reason why I work out of Hightown, handsome.”_ She had told him with a subtle smirk and a wink.

Justice had told her to stay safe and support mage rights.

 

\---

 

“Get the fuck up knife-ear!” The slur was punctuated with a violent kick. Fenris let out a grunt but nothing more. He glared up at the human who kicked his side. That earned him another kick, this one to his stomach. The slaver pulled Fenris up by his hair and slammed his fist into Fenris’s nose. The slaver’s tight hold on Fenris’s hair kept the elf upright. He tilted the elf’s head back and screamed.  “Do you how much you fucking cost me? How many of my fucking men you killed? I lost a whole fucking shipment because of your ass!” Fenris narrowed his eyes at the human.

Shipment? Twenty-two elves. Five men. Four women. _Thirteen. Children._

Fenris spat in the human’s face. It was all he could do with his hands bounded behind

The man snarled and grabbed dagger from his side and held it against Fenris’s throat. Fenris involuntary gulped when the cold steel grazed just below his Adam’s apple. “It’s not even worth keeping you alive to fuck your pretty little brains out.”

Fenris didn’t flinch. He didn’t avert his gaze from the human’s. He stared down the red-faced, balding bastard. This human had no idea who Fenris was. He took a sick pleasure knowing his murderer would face Danarius’s wrath. He let out a dark chuckle and smirked at his would-be killer.

“You think it’s a fucking joke—

An explosion interrupted the snarling human. They both cringed at the sound and sudden light. The slaver turned and dropped Fenris. _“MY SHIP!”_ The human screeched!  

Fenris looked at the chaos before him, awe-struck. An inferno had erupted over the water, consuming the slaver’s ship. Humans, men and women alike, running and yelling toward the fiery mess. Ice spells proved ineffective to put the fire out. He wondered who caused it. Belatedly, with the focus on the ship, Fenris realized this was his chance to escape.

He tried to wiggle out his binds but failed. He tried getting to his feet but a sharp pain shot through his leg. He collapsed and let out a muffled scream into the ground.

“You bastard!” The slaver returned and kicked Fenris again. “You. Pointed. Eared. Bastard!” Each word was ended with a kick. He was roughly grabbed by his hair again, only to be knocked back to the ground. Fenris bit his tongue. His mouth was filled with a coppery tang. He opened his mouth to swear when the oxygen left his lungs.

The slaver slammed his boot onto Fenris’s chest. Again. Again. And again. Andagain.Andagain. _Andagain. **Andagain.Andagain.**_

He couldn’t breathe. His chest was in pieces. His ribs were broken. His lungs burned.

And it won’t stop—

Through his blurred vision, Fenris saw a sword sticking through the slaver’s chest. He blinked. And the sword was gone, and the slaver fell in heap next to Fenris. He let out a choked sob of relief. 

Towering over the injured elf was a knight. Clad in dark gray armor, the man seemed to glow blue. Fenris blinked again. He had been saved by a literal knight in shining armor. For a hysterical moment, Fenris thought he entered Isabela’s friend fiction stories. He had his own knight. He tried to chuckle, but it came out as broken, wheezing sobs.

The knight, _his_ knight, bent down and gently picked him up. Fenris couldn’t fight the whimper that escaped his lips. The knight held cradled Fenris in his arms.

“You are safe; no one will harm you again.” The voice was gentle, firm, soothing. Fenris slumped against the man’s chest. It’s was surprisingly narrower, Fenris thought, but he wasn’t going to judge his knight. “I will take you to the healer.” Fenris nodded, not listening to what the knight said, but enjoyed the sound of the man’s voice.

He would have objected if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Are alright, Anders? You've yawned five times now."
> 
> "Oh, sorry, didn't get much sleep. Fenris broke into my clinic and got blood everywhere."
> 
> "Creators! That's terrible!"
> 
> "I know! I was having the most fantastic dream. I just saved a rather handsome fellow from certain doom and I was to be awarded a kiss. But no, instead I got a broody elf."
> 
> "I was talking about Fenris. Is he alright?"
> 
> "...Why don't you just ask him? He's standing right there, growling at us."


	3. Active Quest: My Muse, The Pearl Worker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds himself appreciating art more then he already did.
> 
> Inspired by Film Me Like One Of Your Orlesian Girls by ContreParry and So Alive by zillah1199, both stories I recommend highly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So, Riviani, you heard about that new art gallery opening up in Hightown?”
> 
> “Hmmm? No, why would I? Kitten is more into art than I am.”
> 
> “You see. This art show is featuring some Orlesian painter. And let’s just say his subject material isn’t for your average blushing Choir Boy. No offense, Choir Boy”
> 
> “None taken.”
> 
> “Hold a minute. Orlesian painter who would make our Sebastian blush? You aren’t talking about Cyril Chéreau? Because I know him, met him at the Pearl years ago.”
> 
> “Why am I not shocked you know this guy? Also, Riviani, the Pearl? Don’t you know Blondie from that place? How many people do you know just by going to brothels? Wait, don’t tell me.”

“I can’t believe you saw a collection of stolen artwork as an opportunity to steal.”

“Really, Aveline? You can’t believe Isabela saw an opportunity to steal and took it?”

“Ay, we should have foreseen it coming.”

Hawke, Fenris, Aveline, and Sebastian were set out to find Cyril Chéreau’s stolen artwork. It was easy to find. A noblewoman had been preaching against Chéreau showcasing his collection in Hightown had hired thugs to take not just his paintings and finished drawings, but also his sketchbooks. After going through her house and killing her personal guards and arresting her, they located the stolen goods in a back room.

Where they found Isabela.

“Who said I was stealing anything?” Isabela crossed her arms and pouted. Aveline and Hawke looked down at the pirate, judging her as parents would judge their kids trying to take from the cookie jar before bed. “Fine!” And just like any kid she broke. “Fine, fine! I came here looking for a painting! But once you see it you knew why I had to come and take it.”

Fenris lost interest in the conversation. How could he focus on his friends when he was surrounded by such beautiful artwork? When Hawke came by his mansion this morning asking if he wanted to help find Cyril Chéreau’s artwork, he jumped at the chance. One of the few fond memories Fenris had from his time as a slave was when Danarius had bought the Orlesian’s work. He installed it in main hall of his summer pavilion and Fenris had fell in love with the woman in the painting. _Vivienne’s Lament_ had been the title of the piece, if Fenris remembered correctly. It was a portrait; her head turned slightly, looking over her shoulder. She had been wearing a pale green dress and matching mask, the color contrasting with her dark skin. A knowing smirk played her lips, as if she knew everyone’s secrets. But despite her cocky expression, it hadn't reach her eyes.  Chéreau had captured a deep sadness within his model. An emotion, Fenris always suspected, that the woman didn't know she felt.   

Fenris had risked beatings to get a glance at Vivienne. The artwork in this room meant more to him than anyone could have guessed.

The elf moved away from the others and went to the stack of sketchbooks in the far corner. Maybe he could find the original drawings?

Fenris shook his head of that thought. He had been a slave. He didn’t know what love was and he certainly couldn’t have been in love with a mysterious woman in a painting. He knew the difference between admiration and love. And what he felt for Anders was real.

Absently, Fenris picked up one of the first sketchbooks. It was filled with figure studies and quick sketches of Orlesian architecture. He flipped through the pages, but his mind drifted to Anders. His lover would have enjoyed this mission.

If Anders were here, he would go around the room picking up the most suggestive and raunchiest paintings and show them off to Fenris. He’d wiggled his eyebrows and hips while do so, just to get a reaction out of Fenris. He’d do it when the others weren’t looking, making it a game. Fenris’s lips quirked upward at the thought of his mage.

Fenris put down the sketchbook and reached for another when he spotted a thick, but small sketchbook on the floor next to the stack. He bent down to pick it up and noticed the were something written on the cover. Fenris put his new found reading skills to use. _My Muse, the Pearl Worker_ it said. His brows furrowed, why did that sound familiar? Opening it to the first page gave him his answer. The paper was covered in sketches of different people in different poses. If Fenris had been anyone else, his focus would have been on the woman with a griffin tattoo, or the bearded dwarf in a dress. Even the detailed drawing of Isabela that was right in the middle of the page didn’t register in Fenris’s mind. His attention went to the top corner of the paper. There, in graphite, was a sketch of younger Anders. The face was had less worried lines, his hair was pulled back into ponytail, and his left ear was pierced, but it was his Anders.

The sketch captured Anders’s flirty smile Fenris loved so much. Lightly, he ran a finger over the picture, careful not to rip the paper with his clawed gauntlets. Fenris turned the page to see if there was anymore sketches or drawings of Anders, and was awarded with a full body nude. There was nothing sexual about the image. Anders was sitting on a stool casually, nothing more, but that was enough for Fenris’s cock to twitch. He ignored the tasteful nude with the tattooed woman and thumbed through the sketchbook for more drawings of his mage.

Apparently, the title had been about Anders because aside from a few pages here or there, Chéreau had filled the entire sketchbook with drawings about the apostate. Some sketches were just studies of the anatomy, others were not. There pages covered of Anders pleasuring himself in accurate detail. There were painted illustrations of Anders tied up in silk scarves. There drawings of Anders in lacy smalls and matching corsets, which Fenris took special note of. And a series of sketches featuring Anders having sex with men and women. Under any other circumstances, just thinking about his lover being with another person would drive Fenris into a fit of jealousy, but seeing a drawing of Anders ride another man just turned him on. It was easy for him to imagine _he_ was the one in the picture.

Fenris was keeping this book. He peered over his shoulder to see what the others were doing. Across from him, it seemed Isabela was still going through the multiple paintings while everyone else looked upon on her in mild amusement and shame. That meant no one would notice if he slipped the sketchbook into one of his pouches. Quickly, he stashed his find into his side pouch. He tried to calm himself down; if he rejoined with them now, they were bound to notice his obvious problem in his pants. He thought about the horrible deeproad’s expedition and fighting darkspawn for the first time.

That killed Fenris’s erection faster than he thought possible. He schooled his features and returned to the others. Just in time too, given by Isabela’s excitement.

“Ah, ha! I knew it was here!” She pulled a rather tall painting out from behind a stack of even larger paintings, almost making them topple over.

Hawke and Sebastian caught them and pushed them up right. Hawke glared at her. “What is so important about this damn painting?”

“And no, you can’t have it regardless how important you think it is," Aveline added.

“Oh, hush man-hands,” Isabela was practically hugging the frame. Fenris eyed it with mild curiosity. The frame was narrow, but taller than a human male. It was an odd shape compared to the rest of the paintings in the room. “Say hello to Sparkle-fingers everyone.” She spun the artwork around.

Sebastian turned away, red-faced. Aveline groaned and covered her eyes. And Hawke bellowed out, “Andraste’s ass!”

“No,” Isabela corrected with shit-eating grin, “Anders’s ass.”

Anders’s ass indeed. The picture was a life-size oil painting of Anders. His back was facing the viewer, but he was turned ever so slightly so he could look over his shoulder. It was if he was in the room right then and now, beckoning Fenris to join him in their bed.

Fenris was going to need a larger poach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What?"
> 
> "You keep staring at me."
> 
> "No I don't. I don't know what you're talking about."
> 
> "Yes you do. I know you saw that painting of me, Sebastian! So keep your eyes to yourself. Its for your own good, you know." 
> 
> "Oh, look at cloud! Isn't it lovely, I think it might be a bird!"
> 
> "You can't use that excuse every time you want to avoid a conversation with me."


End file.
